Primavera
by writing-to-music
Summary: Joey cooks when he needs to think. Pasta sauce, specifically.


**A/N: This is my awkward foray into the world of fanfiction again after not having finished anything in over six months. Please let me know what you think, and enjoy this little ficlet!**

When Chandler got home, the entire apartment smelled like pasta sauce.

"Not quite marinara," Chandler remarked, swinging the door shut and hanging up his coat. "So I take it you're not preparing for a date."

Joey looked up from the pot, smiling, about to say something, when Chandler held up a finger. "No, wait, don't tell me."

He paced the living room, hand over his eyes so as not to give anything away.

"It's not alfredo, we just had that at Monica's, like, two days ago, and you KNOW she makes it better than you."

"Hey!"

"So yeah, not alfredo, then, you're not heartbroken," Chandler mused, hand still over his eyes, stopping where he stood.

Chandler kept thinking out loud. "You're still going out with Jenny and you haven't fought with your sisters, at least not that I know of. My eyes don't feel spicy right now, so you're not mad at me. Hmm, what else? Family, girlfriend, money, acting –"

All at once, he spun to face Joey, if facing was still what it was called when one of the parties had their face covered. "Primavera."

"Bingo," Joey confirmed.

"Didn't get the part in that miniseries?" Chandler asked, blinking rapidly as he sat at the breakfast bar.

"Ah, well, no, they do want me," Joey explained reluctantly. "They just, just want me to, uh, do some stuff."

"How maddeningly vague of you."

"Y'know, I think I know one of those words!"

"That's an improvement. But, uh," Chandler stopped. "Don't try to distract me! C'mon, Joe, what's up?"

"You're gonna just make me say it, aren't you?" Joey said, stirring that particular pot of sauce a little more forcefully than Chandler thought was really necessary. But what did he know, he'd never made pasta sauce in his life.

"Maybe?" Chandler tried, and whoa, that was going to stain the walls. He reached over the table and took the wooden spoon from Joey, setting it on the table. "Slow down there, cowboy."

"All right," Joey said, resigned. "My love interest is a complete newbie. Doesn't know how to kiss, how to act in love, anything! It's really screwing me up here!"

"Aw, that sucks," Chandler said sympathetically. "How did-"

"He get the part?" Joey huffed. "I don't know. It's like they're just pullin' people in off the streets here! You know I'm pretty easygoing, but if he flubs his lines in rehearsal one more time, I'm gonna-"

"Let's back up," Chandler cut in. " _He_?"

"Yeah, he! You'd think he'd be better than he is, they're trippin' over themselves to cast him." Joey snorted and shook his head. "They just want the eye candy."

Chandler was still stuck on the pronoun, which Joey finally noticed.

"Hey, man," he said, a bit uncertainly. "You're not gonna go all weird on me, are you? You know this has happened before. I'm an actor, so's he, it's what we do."

"Huh?" Chandler said eloquently. "Oh. Yeah. I'm fine."

Joey did not look convinced. Chandler mentally put his foot in his mouth about a million times.

"Seriously," he said, managing a smile he thought was convincing. "I know you do – this. Just had to kinda, um, rearrange my mental image of this situation a bit."

"What, and it'd be different if I was talking about a bad actress?" Joey said, turning his back to stir a bubbling pot on the stove. "I don't see why you're makin' such a big deal out of this."

"Hey, I'm not the one makin' pasta sauce," Chandler protested. Joey turned around and looked at him with an "are you serious right now?" look on his face. It was unnerving. He'd probably learned it from Chandler. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry."

"Good. Hey, can you go borrow pasta from Monica? We're out."

Chandler nodded and stood up, walking towards the door. As he was almost there, however, a thought occurred to him, and he spun on his heel.

"But what about, like, when you're not acting? What about guys then?"

"Oh my God," Joey said, giving Chandler unpleasant Janice flashbacks. He turned to face him once again.

"All right, okay, _settle_ ," Chandler said, one more time, open mouth, insert foot. "I'm just – I'm just gonna go."

"No, wait, hold up a sec," Joey said, and he looked like he was thinking – damn that introspective pasta sauce. "You sound like you're tryin' to hint at something."

Chandler startled. "What? No! Not hinting! Do not let that delicious-smelling primavera cloud your judgement, Joe!"

"I think you are." Joey mused, and he sounded suspicious, though Chandler couldn't for the life of him think why.

Chandler's expression must have been one of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler as it flashed back over its little deer-y life and wondered over its past regrets, now knowing they were all meaningless and life was a lie, because Joey stopped.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't realize you'd be like that. I thought-" he paused. "Never mind, okay? I won't talk about it anymore, if it makes you that uncomfortable."

At a loss for words, Chandler simply nodded, though he didn't really feel like doing so, and slipped out the door.

The door to Monica and Rachel's apartment was unlocked, because of course it was, and Chandler opened it, lost to his own thoughts.

"Catch!" Monica said, throwing a box of spaghetti at him. Chandler caught it, but barely, glancing at the box.

"How'd you know I was coming?"

"The whole building knows when Joey makes pasta sauce," Rachel said from her spot at the table, while Monica grinned. "I think they pump it through the air vents."

"Primavera, right?" Monica guessed. "Job troubles?"

Chandler stared. "That's just not fair."

Monica smiled again. "What's up?"

"Well, Joey knows the details, but the gist is that there's this guy at work he can't stand kissing."

Rachel nodded sympathetically. "Poor Joey, I can't imagine having to work with someone who's that bad at their job."

"Rachel, I'm pretty sure," Chandler started. Monica swatted him with a towel.

"What?"

"Nothing. So you guys aren't fazed by this at all?"

"What, that it's a guy? No," Rachel said calmly, taking out a bottle of nail polish. "Why would it be a big deal?"

"Yeah, she's right, everybody knows Joey's probably bi," Monica confirmed.

"I didn't!" Chandler whisper-screamed.

"You should stop freaking out, Joey might hear you," Rachel said, now placidly painting her toenails a shade of plum.

"Yeah, stop being a jerk, Chandler, he's the same as he's always been," Monica rebuked. "Now go. Go be nice, I'm sure he feels horrible now, if you reacted like this."

"Yes ma'am," Chandler said, only half joking. He grabbed the box of pasta from the counter and left, then looked at the pasta box and turned back around and opened the door.

"This is fettuccine."

"Close enough! Go!" shouted Rachel.

Chandler was quiet as he opened the door. Joey was talking to himself, reciting what were probably his lines, but stopped when Chandler came in.

"They only had fettuccine, I'm really sorry for being a dick earlier, and I hope the substitution's okay," Chandler said, for once almost completely serious.

"Aw, that's all right," Joey said, a twinkle in his eyes that Chandler really didn't like. "I've figured out a way for you to make it up to me."

"Which is?" Chandler asked nervously.

"You're going to help me rehearse, since I can't focus whenever the other guy's making a mess of everything," Joey said. "Just for a little while."

Chandler felt relieved. "Okay then. Just, uh, lines and such?"

"Nope, you're gonna help me practice the kissing scenes," Joey said nonchalantly, dumping the pasta into boiling water.

"In God's name, why?" Chandler sputtered.

Joey sighed, like it was obvious. "Cause I can do my lines by myself, but I can't exactly practice kissing alone."

"Call Jenny."

"She's busy, and she'd think it's weird anyway."

"It is weird!"

Joey fixed him with a look. "You owe me."

"Fine." Wait, what? Was he actually going to go through with this?

Wiping his hands on a dish towel, Joey set the timer. "Ten minutes until the pasta's done, okay? I gotta learn under pressure anyway."

"The great Joey Tribbiani, weakness of women everywhere, having to practice kissing," Chandler remarked drily. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Hey, this isn't exactly my area of expertise," Joey defended, and walked around to Chandler's side of the breakfast bar. Chandler stood up. His hands felt sweaty.

Joey picked up on this embarrassingly quickly. "Hey, no need to be nervous. It's just for practice. We're acting."

"That's not exactly my area of expertise," Chandler said, voice shaking the slightest bit. God, why? Why now, of all times? It didn't count! It was just practice!

Joey was still hesitating. "Look, man, if it makes you this uncomfortable we don't have to. I'm a gentleman."

"No, just let's get it over with," and why didn't he take the out! That was an out! That he didn't take!

The air smelled of garlic and oregano and sautéed vegetables, like the inside of an Italian restaurant, guaranteed by nine people out of ten to be a really good date idea. There was something relaxing about the scent of really good food in a restaurant, a calming knowledge that you'd be able to get some soon, that it was being made for you.

Chandler closed his eyes and smelled pasta. He could feel Joey next to him, warmth radiating of his very being. He felt so vulnerable, a feeling which his entire body protested at. Chandler's mind immediately started running through lines he could say, but then Joey kissed him and every thought went blank for a moment.

Joey was an incredibly good kisser - that much was clear, even in the short time it had taken to place that chaste kiss. Chandler opened his eyes, and Joey was _right there,_ and oh damn he was a good actor, because he was looking at Chandler with _adoration_ , an open fondness that he felt he'd seen before, but not truly observed.

"Um," came Chandler's eloquent reply. "What's my line?"

Joey shrugged, but he wasn't moving away. "Don't know."

"I'm not gay," Chandler said, but it came out sounding a bit strangled. Joey grinned, not at all offended.

"Yeah, no you're not. But, you're definitely a better kisser than Mr. Abs back at the set."

Chandler suddenly found it hard to breathe.

"I'm thinking maybe, maybe I need some more practice," Joey said hesitantly, and Chandler knew it was up to him. He could say no. He could say he'd had enough, and they would eat the pasta and everything would be fine. It wouldn't be awkward at all. Joey could call Jenny up and Chandler could call – uh, somebody, and that would be that.

Or he could lean forward and kiss the confusion and hesitance off of Joey's face until they were both gasping for breath and grasping at what little delusions of normalcy and platonic relations they had were gone, dead and buried.

Chandler could grasp at Joey's shirt collar, running his hands everywhere because he didn't know where to put them, feeling like a teenager again as he fumbled at what he could reach of Joey, hands in hair and behind necks and on Chandler's face to hold him still so Joey could show him how to properly do this, how to do and touch and feel like he hadn't felt before in his entire life, nervousness and shyness alike calmly melting way, getting lost in the haze of new and familiar and contradiction and resolution.

You really couldn't blame Chandler, when all was said and done, for choosing the second option. They didn't mind that the pasta was overcooked, or that they could predict Rachel's squeal when she would find out, or that the timer startled them into knocking heads together, or that everything had changed in a new and scary way.

It didn't really matter. The primavera sauce was delicious.


End file.
